


In Which An Intruder Is Accosted

by aceactress



Series: Sammy's Fallen London Stories [1]
Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Gen, also if I ever get anything wrong lore-wise in my fl stuff i formally apologize, at least this story has TWICE as many characters as the last one I wrote, i don't think there are any actual content tags i can use?, sure william has a surname but no one ever USES it, the original title was way more boring, there are no canon characters in this if you don't want ocs you have come to the wrong place, this is in a series because i like keeping my stuff organized, uhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 00:10:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9352775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceactress/pseuds/aceactress
Summary: There are certain advantages (or, depending who you ask, disadvantages) to being awake at unreasonable hours of the night. One night, or possibly very early morning, Miss Philomena Sly investigates an unexpected noise and discovers one of them.(This is something I wrote a while ago to provide a little backstory on a couple of my Fallen London OCs.)





	

The hour is late, the night is cold, and while much of London is surely sleeping, Philomena Sly is not. As has become routine for her, she sits awake with a book and a cup of tea, reading by dim candlelight. It's easier for her than sleeping is. The night is almost silent in her rooms, aside from the sound of pages turning and a cup clinking against a saucer at irregular intervals. Perhaps that's why Philomena so easily hears the noise from the floor above her.

It's the sliding, frictional sound of a window being opened, one she's well acquainted with. She stands up, certain that she locked everything that could be locked. She waits to hear something else. It is puzzling, though – living above a bookshop, she's already on the second floor. The storey above her is even higher off the ground. A Fisher-King, then? she wonders, before there is a soft thump from above followed by a much louder one, as well as what sounds like a muffled cry of pain. She takes the candle from its place on the table, and after a brief moment of deliberation brings a poker from the fireside before quickly and quietly ascending the stairs.

The room above is dark, but even in the gloom she can see that a window has indeed been opened, letting in the chill, if not any wind. She approaches it. As she does she notices a shape not far ahead, muttering and rubbing at what appears to be its knee. Its head is bowed, and after a moment it stands.

The boy looks up at Philomena and freezes. In the green glow of the foxfire candle she can see that he's young – she places him at around eleven, maybe twelve years old – grubby-looking, and is clutching a worn cap in his hands. Perhaps not a Fisher-King, but certainly an urchin.

“Exactly what are you doing, young man?” Philomena asks. Doubt and fear flash across the boy's face for a split second, but  _ only _ a split second before he begins to speak. She takes note of that.

“Well, you see, miss,” the boy starts, “I'm s'posed to be meetin' some friends of mine what lives around here. Only it's awful dark tonight and I s'pose I must've mistook your house for theirs an' ended up in yours instead. You know. Accidental, like.” He nods at the end, trying to keep a solemn face while clearly being quite pleased with himself.

Philomena takes a moment to evaluate this. It's a lie - she's sure of that, but it isn't entirely unbelievable. Unlikely, yes, but  _ plausible. _ Perhaps there's potential here. “And do you usually enter houses through third-floor windows?””

“At this house, at my friends' house, the door is real heavy, yeah? An' so it makes this 'orrible loud noise when it shuts, miss, wouldn't you believe it, and what wiv it bein' as late as it is I thought it would be better not to wake anyone who might be sleeping.”

“What an upstanding citizen you are.”

“Thank you, miss.”

“So,” says Philomena, “Am I to understand that this is an honest mistake?”

“That's right, miss.”

“And you weren't planning to burgle a dark house late at night.”

“No, miss! Not at all.” The boy looks offended that she'd even suggest such a thing.

“I see.” She pauses, briefly. “What's your name?”

“William.”

“William who?”

The boy – William – frowns. “Well... William Younger, I s'pose, that'd be my full name, but mostly I'm just William.”

“Philomena Sly. It's nice to meet you, just William.”

Another pause.

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

***

With the window closed and locked once more, Philomena and William find themselves sitting across from one another in her kitchen, kettle boiling on the stove. Another candle has been lit, and William looks around, taking in the area. It's a fairly modest kitchen, but it's warm and it's, well, a real kitchen. He has to admit it - he's actually pretty impressed. He thinks he could stay here for a while.

“You live 'ere all alone, then?”

“Yes.”

She's a woman of few words, is Philomena. He can't really get a handle on her, either, finding her awfully tough to read. Still, she seems alright. She invited him in, after all, and he's fairly sure that she isn't going to try anything - even if he has his doubts. Although he does get the feeling that it would be a very, very bad idea to take advantage of her hospitality and take something now.

The kettle begins to shriek, signifying that the water's boiled. William nearly jumps. Calmly, Philomena goes to the stove and prepares two cups of tea; one for William and one to replace the now-cold cup she abandoned earlier. William takes his eagerly. The cup itself is warm, too, and even indoors it's a welcome contrast from the chill outside.

“Thanks, miss.”

“You're welcome.”

“'s awfully late.” He takes a sip – well, more of a gulp, really. The tea's hot enough that he suspects he may have burned his tongue a bit, but it's strong and well worth it. He hasn't got a lot of experience in the matter, but he doesn't think any milk or sugar has been added. Which is just fine by him.

“It is.” Philomena watches him over the top of her spectacles.

“How come you're up an' awake this time of night? I mean, is really is late and I thought most people'd be asleep by now.”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, I s'pose you  _ could _ , but you 'aven't. So...”

“That is true.” It's her turn to take a sip of tea. After she swallows, she pauses for a moment before continuing. “I don't sleep well,” she says simply, “and this way I'm aware of it when young men crawl through my windows.”

“I said I was sorry about that already, didn't I?”

“You did.”

“'Cos I am.”

Philomena only nods.

Silence. William isn't really comfortable with silence, preferring busy streets and just the general sounds of the city. And the sounds of Fallen London are certainly something to be heard. But Philomena really  _ is _ a woman of few words, and so it falls to William to break the ice once more. After all, he reasons, he can probably talk enough for the both of them, can't he?

“Are you mourning someone? I mean, what wiv you bein' dressed all in black, only I don't really see why you would be, since gen'rally ones what die don't  _ stay _ dead, unless something really 'orrible 'appens to 'em, but sometimes you see ladies an' gentlemen all dressed up in proper mourning clothes anyway, is all.” He rambles a bit more than he meant to, and it doesn’t quite occur to him that this isn’t a polite question to ask, but Philomena lets him talk.

“Not exactly. No.”

“What d'you mean by that?”

“I'm not mourning anyone.”

“Oh.” William suspects that this isn't the whole truth, but he's not really inclined to push it. Not yet, anyway. He's busy trying to think of something else to ask or to say when Philomena surprises him by speaking up.

“Dark colours help one to go unnoticed, especially down here. In my line of work, that's useful.” William's pretty sure that's the most she's said so far in one sitting, and he's a bit shocked.

“What's your... line of work, then?”

“Shadowy business. Not particularly lawful.”

“Huh.” He hesitates for a moment. “So... you aren't going to turn me in to the Constables, then?”

“No.”

“Oh. That's good. I 'ave to admit, miss, I was a bit worried there for a minute!” He laughs nervously, out of relief more than anything.

“I've just as good a reason to avoid them as you. You don't need to worry.”

William nods and finishes his tea. Before he can open his mouth again, Philomena glances pointedly at the clock. “You should get some sleep, William.”

“But I'm 'ardly tired at all-”

Philomena raises both dark eyebrows. “Get some sleep. There are blankets in the linen closet.”

“Oh. Alright.” He pauses. “D'you mean it?”

“Yes.” 

Frankly, she didn't get the impression that he was ever planning to leave.


End file.
